Horrors of War
by Population1-13th
Summary: The soldiers may fight to the finish, but it is the medics who never say die. Even they cannot stop death, but they can try.


Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, and perhaps someday I'll make money off of writting fiction, but that day is not today.

A/N: This is what happens when I attempt to write Transformers fanfiction while still under the influence of _All Quiet on the Western Front_, which this is slightly inspired by, but not based on. I may add to this later (or not), but for now it is a one shot. I hope this is enjoyed and would be pleased to recieve reviews. Boosts in self esteem lead to more stories.

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><p>In most battles one could hear the sounds of crashing metal, cries of the dying, screams of the living, explosions booming, bodies falling to the ground—the sounds of destruction, of desperation, and terror. Horrors all.<p>

There are, however, other battles.

Ratchet would have sighed had he the time or the energy. He might have cried had he a place to hide once he was no longer numb to the pain. As best he knew all of Cybertron was burning, a fever—the war—spreading across its surface, bot after bot falling. Autobots, Decepticons, Neutrals even. All he knew at the moment was the bodies hadn't stopped pouring into the makeshift med bay. He and the other medics did all they could but it was never enough.

Not a joor ago a small group of Neutrals had come begging for medical attention for their friend. The medics wouldn't turn anybot short of Decepticons away but their hands had been full. By the time First Aid, the only one who had had a moment to help, had gotten the Neutral mech on an examination table he had permanently off lined. Ratchet had walked in just in time to see his apprentice with lower lip trembling tell the group that it was too late. It was a testament to how much they'd probably seen that they simply picked up their friend's sparkless corpse and walk out of the med bay.

No bot had had time to mourn—they could only move on to the next patient.

They had been going on two orns like this, hardly recharging, rarely taking in Energon, only moving, doing whatever they could. Fixit had already collapsed once from lack of Energon, Ratchet had only been able to give him a few moments to get some Energon and steady himself. And now it seemed as though First Aid was beginning to tremble from lack of recharge. Ratchet wished the youngling could have a few joors to sleep—actually he wished that for First Aid, the other medics, and himself—but they couldn't spare the hands.

At the moment the medics were only taking the spark threatening injuries. Stabilizing only, they'd get to repairs when they could. They couldn't at the moment.

A head wound on one mech, stabilized, hopefully with no processer damage. A femme missing the lower half of her torso and her legs, in stasis, but with repairs she might even walk again. Another mech, this time with damage near his main Energon pump. A mech with punctured Energon lines. A young femme, little more than a sub adult, dragged in, protesting, by her teammates who feared she'd lost too much Energon and would soon off line.

It was all too much. He had personally lost the mech with the damage to his Energon pump. The one with the punctured Energon lines had taken a nose dive just when they had dared to hope for improvement, two medics were now working frantically on him. The young femme was still in critical condition, and her two teammates had been banished from the med bay for hovering.

_If I only could switch places with Primus maybe these bots would have a chance. _Ratchet thought_ either because Primus would work miracles as a medic or I could work miracles as him._

Ratchet was just about to collapse in a chair in the corner for a moment having made sure the other medics could function without him for a while, but it was that moment that the battle changed.

An entire Special Ops unit burst through the med bay doors. Bumblebee tripped in first and held the doors open for the next pair of mechs. Even at this distance Ratchet could see the desperation in their eyes. He stifled a groan as he stood.

"Ratchet!" Primus, Bumblebee looked panicked.

As Ratchet made his way toward the group he noticed an agent whose name he believed to be Rollout and empty air he assumed to be Mirage struggling under the weight of something. It was another mech, Ratchet's optics widened as he realized just who said mech was.

He was dented in many places, there seemed to be deep holes piercing his armor in many places all of which were leaking Energon at an alarming rate, and his left arm and leg were held on by only a few wires and Energon lines. He was almost unrecognizable, but Ratchet saw an all too familiar black and white paint job and blue visor, though said visor seemed lifeless. Jazz.

"Primus." Ratchet whispered, so much for numb. "Operating table, now!"

Rollout and Mirage staggered over to an empty table and gently placed their leader down. As they walked Ratchet noticed Rollout was limping and had several gashes over his armor. He couldn't say much of Mirage who for one reason or another was choosing to stay invisible, or as invisible as he could be considering that he was covered in Energon, whether it was his or not, Ratchet didn't know.

Ratchet turned his gaze back to Bumblebee, the youngling looked to be in a state of shock. "Bumblebee," Ratchet's voice was uncharacteristically gentle. "What happened?"

"It was just supposed to be a recon mission, no fighting, no sabotage, just information. Maybe we tripped a silent alarm, maybe we got careless, or maybe they knew we were there. On minute all's quiet, the next we're under heavy fire and Jazz is getting us out of there. Then," the smaller mech took cycled air, trying to steady his voice, "then just as we should have been out of range this old piece of factory machinery gets blown to bits by a shot. Jazz was closest." Bumblebee stared at his peds.

"Bumblebee, go sit over there by the wall for a while, you look like you're about to fall over. I'll send Mirage and Rollout over in a moment." Bumblebee did as he was told.

XXXXXXX

Ratchet surveyed the body in front of him. Shrapnel wounds all up and down the left side, the situation with his arm and leg, he was almost completely drained of Energon, and some of the splinters had shattered his visor.

"Won't go…no more….can't….dying room…." Jazz mumbled, soon turning incoherent. Ratchet was horrified, that anyone should be conscious through all this. He was quick to send the saboteur into stasis.

He opened the armor and got to work. He removed a few pieces of shrapnel from around the Energon pump, it had been punctured. Ratchet cringed when he saw how dangerously close to the spark chamber a few pieces had come. Jazz had some kind of Primus blessed luck.

Ratchet hoped for a bit of that luck to rub off on him for this procedure and set to work. The next few joors were going to be very long.

XXXXXX

Ratchet staggered over to a chair. He had been so frantic and absorbed in trying to save Jazz he hadn't noticed the med bay get very quiet. Most of the patients were in stasis or recharging. The latter also went for a number of the medics, apparently, as First Aid seemed to have fallen into deep recharge at some point and was placed in one of the few spare berths.

Wheeljack had also shown up while he was working and was finishing some noncritical repairs across the room. Things must be going alright.

Ratchet began to nod off.

What felt like mere breems later someone shook him out of recharge. He looked around panicked. He noticed that the Special Ops team was gone, probably given basic repairs and sent to their own berths. All the patients were quiet. First Aid was still asleep and the other medic seemed to have followed his example.

"I know it's the middle of the night," Wheeljack said quietly, hand still on Ratchet's shoulder, "but is it alright to let someone in?"

"Who would want to come in at this joor?"

"The same mech who has been waiting outside the med bay doors since he got off shift while you were still trying to get Jazz hooked up to life support."

Ratchet leaned forward and placed his face in his hands, but he nodded.

Wheeljack crossed the room and opened the med bay doors and said something muffled by the distance. Prowl half walked half ran into the med bay, obviously exhausted but still trying to keep up with his respectable air, all pretenses of which collapsed when he saw Jazz on the medical berth hooked up to life support. His intake shuddered as he cycled air.

"He'll live, Prowl. He'll be alright." Wheeljack said.

Prowl nodded, and after standing still for a moment he leaned down to the berth and gingerly wrapped his arms around his unconscious lover.

Ratchet, who had once again begun to fall into recharge, was startled into consciousness by a hand on his shoulder.

"You did well, my friend." Ratchet hadn't even heard Optimus Prime enter the med bay.

"Not well enough. You haven't seen the morgue yet."

Prime shook his head, "It is due to a miracle Jazz is alive, a miracle and your skills."

"Jazz has always been blessed with luck. Just ask the green mech with the severed Energon lines laying on a slab, my skills can't save everyone."

"You'd have to be Primus to save everyone, Ratchet."

"I just wish I could do more."

"We all do, old friend, we just have to take the good things as we can. There may not have been miracles for everyone who came in here, but there are some." He looked over to where the tactician still had his arms around the saboteur. "We should savor miracles where we can find them."


End file.
